


All Helpful Urges

by You_Light_The_Sky



Category: Undertale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale, F/M, Happy Ending, HorrorTale, HorrorTale Sans, Kidnapping, Post-Game, Yandere Sans, mentions of cannibalism, surface - Freeform, unhealthy coping mechanism, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 14:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Light_The_Sky/pseuds/You_Light_The_Sky
Summary: When monsters escape the underground after 'Horrortale', they're placed in a mandatory Monster Rehabilitation program with required therapy sessions. You're the counselor assigned to Sans.My half of the fic trade with Sonamyluffer1011





	All Helpful Urges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sonamyluffer101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamyluffer101/gifts).



> Horrortale is based on [Sour-Apple-Studio's AU](https://sour-apple-studios.deviantart.com/) but the basics are that during the Queen Undyne ending, monsters start eating humans... and sometimes each other out of desperation for food. Sans and Papyrus are unhinged because of a lot of trauma from the situation. A little girl falls into the underground... 
> 
> This oneshot features unhealthy relationships and inaccurate depictions of therapy. Make sure your therapist keeps your relationship professional and if you ever feel weird around them, get another therapist. Also, if your significant other or crush ever kidnaps you against your will, that is a bad sign. Do not do what reader does.
> 
> Title is a line from the song "No Good Deed" from the musical 'Wicked'
> 
> Hope you like this!

When monsters came out of Mount Ebbott, they carried out the mangled body of a little girl. News channels and blogs ate up the bloody scene like starving vultures in the desert. Reporters focused on how the monsters towered over even the tallest humans, their fangs, their weapons, their sinister magic. They ate up the tragedy of the underground—rumors that, in desperation underground, monsters started eating each other, eating _humans_ …

Not you though. You couldn’t wrap yourself in the horror. No. After all, how can you judge, with your own sins? You’ve known desperation.

You focused on the tears you saw that day. In the fuzzy footage of monsters pouring from the mountain, you saw so many crying. But you remember one skeleton in particular, still towering and huge, but smaller than the rest—his tears glowed blue.

They stained your mind with implications.

Immediately, you called one of your old contacts from University. Time to get some lawyers and better reporters for these guys.

::

Quickly, with the right lawyers and writers backing the new Monster President (apparently there used to be a Queen but she stepped down), Papyrus, several laws were passed allowing monsters the same rights as other citizens. It helped that the little girl who helped free them was playing up the tragedy card. ‘ _The monsters need help_ ,’ she said, ‘ _so you should take responsibility_.’ By some miracle, a lawyer named Frisk appeared, telling the reporters about how friendly the monsters were when they were trapped underground… how desperate the situation must have become for things to turn out like this…

The deal was that every monster would be subject to mandatory therapy for two years, and a probationary period of good behavior. You were just happy they were given a chance. You did your part, calling your senators, lawyers, raising awareness where you could. When the Monster rehabilitation program was announced, you were one of the first to volunteer as a counsellor.

::

Imagine your surprise when your first client is the same skeleton you saw crying on the news so long ago. Your voice catches in your throat. You just stare at him, trying to resist the urge to put a hand to his cracked skull and ask _who hurt you_.

“ya gonna stare or shake my hand, doc?”

Oh. Wow. You were not expecting his voice to be that deep. Or soothing.

“Right, sorry! I just, uh—” Time to stop putting your foot in your mouth. Quickly you stretch out your hand and beam at him. “Hi, I’m Doctor— _gah!_ ”

He snorts, revealing a buzzer in his palm. “nice to meet ya, doctor _gah_.”

“I, um…” You shake out your wrist, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes.

Stop it, you’ve been through worse. Mr. Sans is just reacting negatively to therapy likely because of a protective measure. Trust issues. Understandable. You’ve read his (extremely short) file. Instantly, you smile again, just as bright.

He blinks ( _so cool,_ can all skeleton monsters do that?), startled.

“Well, that _was_ pretty funny,” you admit. Your brother used to do that to you all the time before he… well… “Have a seat, Mr. Sans.”

Slowly, he moves over, still staring at you emotionlessly. He sits on the sofa farthest from you, fists clenched on the armrests.

“I, uh,” just breathe, stop staring at the cracks, “I just want to let you know that everything said here will be completely confidential. Only you and I will know. Nothing leaves this room, unless you hint at wanting to hurt yourself or others, then I have to report that to someone. However, in your case, any past situations you discuss where you _had_ to hurt someone, I won’t tell anyone about. Those were exceptional cases.”

Another snort. “heh. sure. _exceptional_.” The lights in his eyes go black. Again, you resist the urge to reach out.

“…Of course, they were exceptional. You were put in a traumatizing situation where you had to do what was needed to survive. I promise I will never judge you for it.”

“i’ll believe it when i see it,” he shrugs, one eyelight returning, bright and blazing blue. The same blue of his tears, long ago.

You shiver a little. He’s so… stunning.

“heh,” Sans huffs, as if something’s been confirmed. He keeps his eye blazing and sits back, crosses his arms. “you should just quit while you’re ahead. you won’t get much outta me. my mind’s _dead_ empty.”

Despite yourself, you laugh a bit.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it yet. Take your time. You seem to like jokes, right? Maybe we can trade a few?”

 _That_ seems to startle him. His ever-present smile seems to falter.

“Great!” you grab at this chance, trying to think of jokes. Oh no, you only know psychiatry and therapist ones and most of them are probably offensive. Oh shit, oh shit, why didn’t you buy yourself a knock-knock joke for this moment, _oh!_ “So a patient says, _‘Doctor, doctor! I'm terribly worried! I keep seeing pink striped crocodiles every time I try to get to sleep!’_ And the doctor says, ‘ _Have you seen a psychiatrist?_ ’”

You pause, watching to see if Sans is listening. His eye is still blazing. One socket still dark.

“But the patient says, ‘ _No—only pink striped crocodiles!_ ’”

Silence descends, as you smile eagerly, waiting for a reaction.

“pfft…!” His shoulders start shaking a bit, and the lovely blaze in his left eye disappears, replaced by a white light in both eye sockets. Shame. You liked the blue. “that… was terrible. you’re making the dead roll in their graves, doc.”

“But you laughed!”

He goes still for a moment, before he murmurs, “…Yeah… haven’t done that in a while.”

“I can imagine…”

“…got any _morgue_ jokes for me?”

::

Sessions with Sans continue like that, with you filling up the silence with bad jokes you find from the internet, and Sans intervening with a few puns. His heart’s not completely in it, but you’re glad he’s _humouring_ you. He refuses to talk about the underground, but you see signs of depression after a bit of prodding about his diet and sleeping habits. You see how desperately codependent he is on his brother, the president (and wasn’t that a shocker to learn about). There’s pent-up resentment too, that remains unexplored. But you don’t want to pressure him. You can tell he doesn’t trust you, not yet.

Who can blame him, really? Humans still aren’t treating monsters well, despite the new laws. Ambassador Frisk and the little girl are doing their best to quell growing fears and prejudices. Still, you can’t turn on the news without another story about monster establishments being vandalized or monsters having panic attacks in malls.

But there are some things that still give you hope.

Other monster clients that see you have started to open up. A few have cried in your arms or wrote you tearful thank you letters. Each patient you see gives you more confirmation that monsters are _good_. They just need a second chance, someone to understand…

::

Sans storms in, eye sockets completely dark. Once more, he sits on the sofa farthest away from you. For several seconds, he doesn’t speak.

“…Is everything okay, Mr. Sans? You seem—”

“don’t wanna talk about it.”

You stare at the sweat pouring down his skull, the way his shoulders tense. Immediately, you frown. “Did someone in the lobby say something to you?”

A slight twitch of the eye socket. You suspect that’s his tell.

“Who was it? Was it Dave?” That new secretary is a piece of work. You knew you shouldn’t have let your boss hire him. “I’ll talk to them—”

“what do you care?” Sans snaps.

“You’re my client,” and maybe more, but it’s unprofessional for you to think about him like that. Luckily, he’ll probably never like you back. “Of course, I care!”

“oh really? you _care_ about something you’re _terrified of?_ ” he sneers, eye blazing again.

Your cheeks go hot. “I’m not _scared_ of you—”

“d o n ‘ t   l i e  t o  m e,” he’s suddenly so close, towering over you, staring at you with those black voids, and you…

You should be screaming, you should be dismissing him from your office. But all you can see again, is this skeleton with blue streaks running down his face when he looked down at that little girl.

Quietly, you reach up, and press your palm against his cheek. The bone feels smooth, cool. The tips of your fingers brush against the edge of his cracks.

“I’m not afraid,” you say quietly, not breaking eye contact, trying to will him to see that. “I just… care about you. That’s it.”

Something _more_ , something fragile, seems to flicker in those sockets. His breaths falter, the air seems to stop in motion.

“…that’s it?”

You’ve never heard his voice this low before, like the dying sounds of winter.

“Yes.” That’s all you can say, really. You keep his hand on his cheek, softly rubbing the cracks. Each broken groove. “That’s it.”

Slowly, his shoulders shake. You step back, you must have upset him. This was so unprofessional of you—

He bursts out into the loudest, most genuine, laughter you’ve heard from him. Each laugh feels like the echoes of summer, tinged by the cold, bursting out for a last hurrah. Each laugh comes with a tear, streaking down his cheekbones.

“Mr… Mr. Sans…?”

“you’re really somethin’, doc. a real star. you can’t be real,” he says, each word filled with unnamed emotion.

“Hey,” you put your hands back on his cheeks, “I’ll say it as many times as I have to, Mr. Sans. I care.”

He studies for another moment longer, maybe too long, before he slumps forward, forehead touching down against your shoulder. “m’so just tired of it all, doll,” he whispers quietly. “just so freakin’ tired.”

All you can do is swallow down your tears, your need to hunt down whoever hurt him, and slowly wrap your arms around him.

“…I know, Sans. I’m here.”

You spend the rest of that session quietly holding him.

::

He doesn’t tell you that Dave tried to kick him out of the lobby. He doesn’t need to. You fire Dave immediately afterwards, making the ‘no discrimination’ policy clear.

Sans seems a bit embarrassed on the next visit, but you just smile like always and crack a few more bad jokes. He snorts and immediately tells you about his day.

He chooses the sofa closest to you.

::

By the tenth session together, you know that Sans used to work in science but quit because of family issues, works five part-time jobs, used to play the trombone, and now acts as part-time advisor to President Papyrus. Every time he talks about politics, though, his demeanor darkens, especially when it comes to Frisk Tempus.

“…and can you believe it, _Saint Frisk_ just spoke over my brother and insisted on the magical registry! doll, if you saw the draft for the magical registry law, you would _freak_. it’s stupid, that’s what it is. All monsters have to carry magic-nullifying bracelets, _why_. don’t see humans walking around with shock collars…”

“That’s horrible,” you agree, “but I don’t think Frisk means to completely pass that law. They want to make adjustments… get rid of the bracelet idea, for one, and just have a formal registry that is completely optional.”

“…you act like you know them,” Sans says darkly.

“Well, they were one of my classmates in an ethics class once. We kept in touch.” Sort of.

His eye sockets go dark. “i see.”

“They’re more of an acquaintance. I just see a lot of their posts on facebook about the topic.” Sadly, they’re one of the only people on your friends list besides a few coworkers. You would say Frisk is the closest thing to a non-work-related friend you have.

“i wouldn’t trust anything that two-faced piece of trash has to say. you should take them off your friends list.”

The way Sans leans in, so that you’re both mere inches away from each other, has you looking away to hide your blush.

“…They’re a good source on current politics. Better than the news. I’ll keep them for now, thanks.”

“i could be all you need.”

You stare back at him. “Sorry what?”

He looks away. “never mind.”

You thought you heard…

Oh well, must have been your imagination. Time to tackle this Frisk issue.

“Do you blame Frisk? For what happened with Asgore, and later, with Queen Undyne?”

Sans scowls. “thought i told you i don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But we need to, eventually,” you press gently. “It doesn’t have to be today, but eventually, you need to open up, Sans.”

“…you wouldn’t understand.”

“I might surprise you.”

He stays quiet.

Inside, you scream internally. You know you can’t push him, he’ll just leave. But you just want to _help_. How can you help when you don’t know what’s going on in his head? You can guess what he’s feeling, based on past experience so maybe—

Wait.

Maybe… with Sans, you need to be vulnerable first.

“I don’t know if you googled me before you came in for your first appointment…” you start.

Sans blinks in surprise. His cheeks suddenly turn that lovely shade of blue. “might have done so, yeah.”

“Then you probably saw my tiny friends list on facebook,” you wink, “…and a few articles about a plane crash.”

Sans nods. “happened when you were twelve.”

“The articles all make it a happy ending. I was rescued… hurray! But… they didn’t publish everything…” you remember how hard your lawyer fought to keep the details out of the press, _she’s just a minor_ , “I was stuck on that island, with my brother, for three months. My brother, god, you would have liked him. He was the _real_ punster… he did his best to make sure we were fed, but there was only so much we could eat on that small island so he… he…”

To your alarm, tears start clouding your vision.

“hey,” Sans says urgently, phalanges brushing away yours tears, holding your hand. At this rate, you might have to switch him to another counselor if you keep being unprofessional with him. “you don’t have to tell me anything, it’s fine, i’ll—”

“No, I… I need to tell you… my brother, he… he _wanted me to live_ , so bad, he… _made me promise_ , and I was so hungry so…”

“…you ate him,” Sans says, looking at you as if you just stepped down from the stars.

You nod.

“So, whatever it is you’re going through… I’ll understand. You do what you can for the ones you love. You deserve this second chance.”

Sans holds your hand so tight, you feel the groove of his phalanges dig towards your bone.

“yeah,” he says reverently, an intense light adding to the ones already in his sockets. “i get that.”

You look away. “Please, uh, don’t tell anyone what I just said.”

His smile widens eerily. “it’s just between us, sweetheart. don’t worry, i’ll protect your secrets.”

“Thanks… I probably shouldn’t have said anything, I mean, I’m _your_ therapist. I just haven’t had any progress and Frisk’s been hounding me to transfer some of my patients to other volunteers if they don’t work out, and I—”

“i do blame frisk,” he says abruptly. “they shouldn’t have left. if they really cared about the underground, about _me_ , they shouldn’t have left.”

“Oh,” you say. _Abandonment issues_ , you think.

“they left us powerless. we had to scrap and devour seven souls from scratch, all over again. i will never let anyone make me feel powerless again. so yeah, i don’t trust a thing that two-faced brat says.”

 _Well shit,_ you think. You probably wouldn’t trust them either, after that.

Sans tells you everything that happened to him after Frisk left the underground—from Queen Undyne betraying him, to the little girl helping the underground gather six more souls to free them all. He tells you about eating humans, how the taste still haunts him. He tells you how he’s tried to end it all. He tells you that he hates it up here but he’s found one good thing at least, besides his brother, worth living for.

He doesn’t tell you what it is.

The whole time he speaks, he never lets go of your hand.

::

That night, you stare at your facebook profile, wondering if you should limit the posts you see from Frisk. The moment you make the decision though, you can’t find Frisk anywhere on your friends list.

“Must have clicked ‘block’ without thinking,” you murmur, not noticing the shadow watching from your closet, before it vanishes as you turn around.

::

Sans starts to bring you packed lunches at the beginning of every session. At first, you try to refuse (you really should set boundaries and have a talk to Sans about personal space, but the hand holding seems to soothe him so…) But then Sans mentions that he doesn’t like knowing if you’re not eating, so you indulge him and eat a couple bites during your talks.

He’s… a pretty good cook. And you’re surprised to see all your favourites. Seems like you both have the same taste, ha!

Every bite you take, he watches hungrily. Despite you offering him a bite, he refuses, insisting you eat first. You mentally note _caretaker tendencies_ in your evaluation of him.

Still, you eat every bite. You both know not to waste food.

::

Frisk pulls you aside after the twentieth session, and whispers, “I’m sorry, but you need to start cutting the patients that you think are well-adjusted enough. I’ve got a long waitlist of monsters that still need to be seen so they can be done with their probationary period.”

“What?! Are you serious?! I thought there were more volunteers lately!”

“It’s been five months. Governments want to see progress already…”

“Frisk, I’m _just_ getting some of my clients to trust me! I haven’t even started referring any patients to actual psychiatrists yet to get diagnoses of conditions that I can’t recognize. The trust wasn’t there yet. We’re dealing with massive amounts of beings who’ve been starved and—”

“Trust me, I know! But my hands are tied. Listen, I can get some of those patients referred to psychiatrists now if you want, since they seem to trust humans a bit more now, thanks to you. But that’s all I can give you. I’m sorry.”

You can’t even get mad at them for this. Budget cuts, timelines… you’ve dealt with it all when you were just working as a University counsellor. There are countless undergrad and graduate students that you wanted to keep but couldn’t because of financial reasons, priority lines… politics… always, always politics…

You close your eyes. “Alright. I have a few names.”

::

You know you shouldn’t… but you love him.

It’s best not to taint the relationship and let him go.

::

Sans comes in with another boxed lunch, whistling a jazzy tune. He seems so happy today. You’ll miss this. You’ll miss seeing him.

“heya doc, what’s up?”

You try to smile, but you end up grimacing. “Not much.”

His smile drops a bit, and he kneels next to you. “did someone bother you again at the store?”

You’re surprised he remembered that detail. “No, no, I grocery shopped safely this time. Apparently, that guy ended up in the hospital.” The pictures in the news looked brutal. It was strange seeing the creep stalking you end up like that. “He got hit by a car. Karma got him bad.”

“sure did. so what’s bothering ya?”

“I…” You have to do this, just tell him. “I have to let some of my patients go. The more well-adjusted ones.”

His sockets go dark. “ **no.** ”

“Sans—”

He puts an arm up, trapping you against the wall.

“i know what you’re gonna say, doc,” he says lowly, “but i ain’t well adjusted. i see humans, and i still wanna tear their throats out, **t a s t e** their juicy insides. i see ‘em walking around, and i think, **_g o o d  h u n t i n g_** _—_ ”

“Sans—”

“and see? i know you won’t report me, doll, because you’re too **g o o d**. you believe in me. you’re the only one who understands me.” He steps so close, you can feel his breath against your lips. “i   **n e e d**  you,” he whispers, eyes so intent on your lips, he could just—

Oh no.

You put your hands up against your face. Oh no, oh no, oh no…

“babe?” he sounds panicked. “what’s wrong? did I—”

“Sans,” you say, face still hidden in your hands, “you need help.”

“ _yes,_ ” he sounds relieved, “i do, so—”

“But not from me.”

“… **w h a t**.” The air goes cold.

“Our… our relationship… it’s become too… unprofessional. I can’t give you the help you need like this—”

“ _yes you can_.”

“—you need someone objective, someone not… emotionally invested in your case. I’ll file the paperwork right away—”

“…you’re leaving…?”

“Well, no. I won’t be your counselor anymore but, if you want, you can still see m—”

“ **i  r e f u s e** ,” you hear suddenly, and when you look up, he looks as stunning as the day you met him. All rage and fire contained in a spectre of death.

“Sans—”

He pulls you close to him, and in the next moment, you both vanish from your office and into the void.

::

The void is nothing and everything, darkness and light. It’s you and Sans, and neither of you all at once. You hear your younger self crying, when your brother cuts off his own arm, forcing you to eat. You hear Sans crying out in pain, trying to stop himself from feeding Papyrus that red spaghetti. You hear your soul crying every time you think of Sans in pain, and you hear Sans’ soul craving you the moment you met, watching you… always watching you…

 _Soulmates,_ you hear a man who speaks in hands speak garbled in your ears, _can be a terrible thing._

::

You both blink into another room, filled with socks and trombones. You almost fall against a drawer, but Sans pulls you snuggly against his chest. He could devour you, with how small you are compared to him.

Shaking, you stare at what’s clearly a bedroom. The bed itself is in disarray, with stained sheets and some burger wrappers. You see a giant calendar with all of your appointments with Sans circled in bright red. Lists too… of things you like to eat, to wear, to read… Wait…

“Why are we in your room?”

He holds you tighter, whispers against your ear. “it’s yours now. you’re staying here with me.”

“I… _no, I’m not!_ I have to go to work, Sans.” Odd how your first reaction isn’t to arrest him. But you’re still processing that void stuff.

“don’t need to. i’ll take care of you.”

“Sans,” as must as you like the idea of being taken care of, it can’t be like _this_. “Please. You can’t do this. You’re confused—”

“no, _you’re_ confused! those humans running the monster rehabilitation program are bullshit! they just want to separate us. but i won’t let ‘em. they can’t take _you_ too!”

“Sans… Is this…” you realize how messy, how smelly this room is. Sans mentioned his brother being a neat freak. “Is this about… Papyrus?”

“paps has nothing to do with this. he comes home when he can. monsters need him. he’s a _good_ leader.”

“Right…”

“but you… _i need you_ more than _they_ need you. i need to see you. to see you’re doing okay.”

Oh Sans…

“Does… does this have to do with what that voice said in the void? About being… soulmates?”

You feel Sans go still behind you.

“i tried not to love you,” he whispers, “i really did. i’m terrible for you. but then… i found out that you’re the same as me. you _understand_. i couldn’t not love you after that. _i couldn’t_. do you get that? _tell me_ you get that.”

“…Let me look at you.”

His arms tighten around your waist.

“I promise not to run, just let me look at you.”

So very slowly, he loosens his hold, and you turn to see him. You should tell him to go. You should run and call the police. You should do anything but stay spellbound, looking at him as you did the first time you saw him. But you’ve never done a good job of taking care of yourself.

“Sans… you need to listen to everything I say first, okay? Then you can decide what you want to do.”

He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t disagree.

“I love you,” you say honestly. You don’t understand it, but you do. “That’s why I can’t be your counsellor anymore. It wouldn’t be professional. But that doesn’t mean we can’t keep seeing each other.”

“…what do you mean…?”

“Well…” you blush, “as… bonefriends.”

He blinks at you.

“… you… want to date… me.”

“Withconditions!” you say quickly. “Just because you love me, doesn’t mean you can just kidnap me. I understand that you’re dealing with some things, but that’s not how you handle it, Sans! I’ll see you as often as you want, when I agree to it. And you still have to see a psychiatrist, even if you don’t want to.”

Sans jaw actually drops. Who knew it could do that?

“…you realize that if you ever leave me, i’ll kill whoever’s in my way to get you back?”

“…Bit not good, Sans.”

“still true.”

“Then I guess I won’t leave you.”

A bit manipulative of you, but hopefully the psychiatry sessions will help Sans out with that problem.

“say it again,” Sans demands.

“…Say what?”

“that you love me.”

You smile at him. “I love you.”

“again.”

“I love _you_.”

“ _again_ ,” he insists, so you just kiss him.

He kisses back, as if to keep you there.

You close your eyes and try not to think about mangled corpses.

::

Sans knows that you’re trying to fix him, and he fights the urge to laugh. He knows he’s unfixable. But he’ll keep milking that for as long as he needs if that means you’ll stay.

Then you’ll never leave him.


End file.
